


you become responsible for what you've tamed

by Lexiliscious



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Mentions of PTSD, Skinny!Steve, WS!Bucky, blink and you miss it cursing, hurt!bucky, mentions of prolonged abuse, scared!Bucky, shrinkyclinks, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-30 21:40:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8550091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexiliscious/pseuds/Lexiliscious
Summary: Steve was roused from his sleep by the sound of half a dozen trashcans clattering onto asphalt and a low groan. A glance to his bedside clock told him it was only two in the morning, and he willed himself to go back to sleep and not look out the window into the alley. It was blissfully quiet for a minute and a half before the sounds of a struggle returned. Steve couldn’t, in good faith, go back to sleep when it sounded like someone was getting whaled on just a few floors down outside his apartment.





	

Steve was roused from his sleep by the sound of half a dozen trashcans clattering onto asphalt and a low groan. A glance to his bedside clock told him it was only two in the morning, and he willed himself to go back to sleep and not look out the window into the alley. It was blissfully quiet for a minute and a half before the sounds of a struggle returned. Steve couldn’t, in good faith, go back to sleep when it sounded like someone was getting whaled on just a few floors down outside his apartment. A glance out his window told him that, yes, that was exactly what was happening. There were three men, and surprisingly enough, it was the largest of the three that was getting beaten to a pulp. He was collapsed back against the trashcans, all of them knocked over and one of them dented from the press of his body, and he weakly protested as one of the smaller men reeled back and punched him again and again. The man started to go limp—maybe in defeat, maybe because he was starting to lose consciousness—and Steve unlocked his window and slammed it up as fast as his not-considerable strength would allow. “Hey!” He snapped viciously, brandishing his phone out the window. “Cut that shit out, leave him alone! I’ll call the cops; I’ve got you on video!” The men froze under the light from the smart phone, and the one who had been holding the poor guy up by the collar of his shirt dropped him roughly back against the trashcans. The man let out a soft whimper and Steve felt twice as bad for him. After a brief conversation, the two men shouted something in a language Steve didn’t know—German, maybe—at the man against the trashcans and then made a swift exit.

“Hold on just a second, I’m coming down,” Steve called down to the man, who was holding his shoulder and slumped in on himself. He hadn’t moved since the man had thrown him back down. Steve got dressed as quickly as he could manage and practically sprinted down the stairs, leaving him winded by the time he got to the poor guy’s side and crouched next to him. He flinched away when Steve reached toward him. “Hey, it’s okay, I’m not gonna hurt you,” He offered softly, taking the first-aid kit out from under his arm and holding it out toward him placatingly. “I wanna help.”The man glanced at him out from under his dirty brown hair, and he looked miserable. He also looked like he didn’t trust Steve as far as he could throw him, which… With the size of the man’s biceps, was probably pretty far. After a brief amount of hesitation, the man tilted his chin up, showing Steve his whole face. Steve flinched in sympathy; he had a gash on his forehead that was steadily leaking blood, a split in his lip, his nose might’ve been broken, and he had bruises littered all over his face, one eye starting to swell shut. He was a wreck. He also still held his right shoulder, his arm slung across his stomach limply like it might be broken. “Jesus,” Steve swore softly. “Can I help you? Is it okay for me to touch you?” He asked.

After a moment of deliberation, where the man stared at him with piercing blue eyes that Steve felt could see through to his very _soul_ , he got a nod. He set about his task immediately, flipping the kit open with practiced ease. He got a few gauze pads and gently wiped away the worst of the blood, then used three disinfectant wipes to make sure the injuries were cleaned—he apologized when the man hissed softly in pain at the sting, but the man didn’t pull away, so he continued. He smeared antibiotic ointment on the worst of the cuts and scrapes, then pressed a clean gauze pad to the one on the man’s temple and taped it down. He put a band-aid on a cut on the man’s shin, and gently prodded at his nose until he determined no, it wasn’t broken, and nor was it bleeding anymore. Steve cringed—that must’ve been an old injury. How long had this guy been beaten before they stumbled into Steve’s alley? Steve’s eyes flickered down to his arm, and he frowned. “Is your arm hurt? Can I see?” He asked.

The man shook his head in the negative fiercely, curling a little more in on himself and scooting away. “Okay, that’s okay,” Steve soothed gently. “You don’t have to show me. Are you going to be okay? Do you have someplace to go tonight?” A small, broken noise, that may’ve at some point been similar to a laugh, worked its way from the man as he shook his head, once again, in the negative. “I know you don’t know me very well, but if you want, you can stay on my couch for the night.” He offered, casting a glance to the mouth of the alley. He had a feeling that if he hadn’t intervened, they might’ve beaten the guy to death, and he didn’t know if they’d be coming back or not. After a few minutes of no response, where Steve filled the quiet by disposing of the dirt and blood covered gauze and wipes and righted a few trash cans, Steve stood in front of the man. “Here, let me help you up, at least.” He held out his hand and reluctantly, the man reached out with his left and use it to get his legs underneath himself and stand, though he wobbled a bit. Steve made to step back from the man, give him some space, but he caught the sleeve of his shirt and held on while he stared resolutely at the ground. “You want to come with me?” He guessed.

After a short pause, the man nodded, just once. “Okay,” He agreed. “Okay. I’m Steve. Can you tell me your name?” He asked gently. The man’s posture went rigid.

“I—“ He spoke for the first time, voice rough from disuse. He looked incredibly uncomfortable and wouldn’t meet Steve’s eyes, and Steve was just about to take it back when he said, “Winter.”

“Winter?” Steve questioned. “That’s your name?” He didn’t say it with any malice, just curiosity; it was a weird name, to say the least. Again, the man nodded. Winter it was, then. “Okay, Winter, my place is just upstairs.”

Winter followed him quietly up the three flights of stairs and into Steve’s apartment, where he stood at parade rest while Steve puttered around and got things together. He put the first aid kit away, pulled out his spare sheets and cleaned off the coffee table. He got a few ibuprofen from the medicine cabinet and a bottle of water from the fridge and placed them on the counter closest to Winter, let him know they were for him if he wasn’t allergic to the medicine. Obediently he swallowed the pills, like he was used to having to complete such a task, but he drank the water greedily, like it wasn’t something he got very often. He finished the entire bottle in the two minutes it took for Steve to retrieve a pillow for him from the bedroom. “Wow,” He whistled, surprised. “There are more in the fridge, you’re welcome to help yourself to them. You can make something if you’re hungry, too.”

Winter shook his head softly and said nothing. Steve led him over to the couch and explained that he could sleep there for as long as he needed, because he didn’t have anywhere he needed to be the next day. Winter looked at him like he didn’t know what to think, face the picture of surprise.

“Steve,” He said, then stopped. He looked torn, like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure if he was allowed. Steve gave him what he hoped was an encouraging look and gestured for him to go on. “Thank you.” He settled on, voice dropping to a whisper.

He smiled softly at him. “No problem, Winter. I’m glad I could help.” He gestured down the hall, where both his bedroom door and the bathroom door stood open. “The one on the left is my bedroom, just knock if you need anything. Left is the bathroom, there are towels in there if you want to shower and the first aid kit is under the sink if you need anything out of it.”

For the first time that night, the man nodded as if he’d made a decision of his own and headed straight for the bathroom. He paused just inside, the gave Steve a soft nod of acknowledgment before he closed the door. Steve waited until he heard the shower start before he went to his room and closed the door. After a moment of deliberation, he locked it; he didn’t think Winter was going to hurt him, but he was at least a foot shorter than the guy, and there was no harm in being cautious.

Steve had almost forgotten about Winter by the time morning came. In fact, he didn’t remember he existed until he walked out of the bathroom that morning and saw him still asleep on the couch. His clothes were next to the couch, along with his thick combat boots, and he seemed rigid where he slept, like he would wake up at the slightest disturbance. He looked considerably better than he had before; freshly showered, the worst of his wounds weren’t quite as swollen anymore, and it seemed like Steve may have overestimated the extent of them in general, as he didn’t have nearly as much bruising as he had first expected. His long hair was also clean, now, falling around his face is soft brown waves. He looked monumentally better and not even remotely as threatening as Steve’s mind had made up when he’d locked his bedroom door.

Then, of course, Steve saw the metal arm. He’s not ashamed that he gasped, but he felt a little guilty when Winter shot ramrod straight off the couch into a sitting position, looking for all intents and purposes like someone was going to shoot him. He eyes immediately trained on Steve, but he looked wide-eyed and scared, not like he was about to try to hurt him. “Your arm,” Steve said before he could think better of it. Winter kept staring at him for several seconds, before his right hand—uninjured, now that Steve could see all of it—up to cup his left bicep. His metal left bicep. His hand drifted up while Steve watched to finger the scars at the edge of the metal uncomfortably.

“I lost it in a war,” Winter offered up quietly as his eyes drifted back down to the carpet and he hunched in on himself. “I don’t remember it.”

“It doesn’t hurt?” Steve marveled—Winter had full range of motion with that thing, it had to be high tech machinery, but it also had to be _heavy_. Winter inclined his head slightly to the side, considering.

“Sometimes.” He allowed. “But it is functional.” He hurried to say afterwards. Steve must’ve still looked horrified, because Winter started to shift uncomfortably on the couch.

“Oh—okay,” Steve bit out, not sure how to process this new information. “Um. Do you want some breakfast? Or you can keep sleeping, if you want.”

Winter’s flesh hand moved to his stomach, and he considered it. “I will eat,” He answered, hesitant. He didn’t seem to trust the idea that Steve would actually give him food, and his answer had been phrased almost like a question. Steve started toward the kitchen and then paused, looking back to the man.

“Do you need some clothes?” He asked. He couldn’t tell from his vantage point if the man was wearing anything on his lower half—he had sheets pooled around his hips and Steve couldn’t tell if there were underwear in the little pile of clothes next to him. Silently, Winter nodded his affirmative. “I’ll try to find something that will fit you, hold on.”

It took several minutes of shuffling through his closet and dresser before he found clothes he thought were close to Winter’s size. One of Sam’s hoodies that he’d left accidentally, and a pair of sweatpants and boxers from an ex that Steve had borrowed and never given back after they broke up. He brought the clothes out and presented them to Winter, who first looked surprised, then confused.

“You want me to wear… These?” He asked, looking down at the clothes in his hands. Steve nodded.

“Yeah, if they work.”

“…okay,” Winter said with no small measure of confusion, then stood up to start putting the clothes on. Steve whipped around as fast as he could, his whole face burning. Winter was _not_ wearing clothes underneath the sheet. “Steve?” Winter asked hesitantly.

“Are you dressed?” Steve croaked, voice several octaves higher.

“Yes.” Winter answered. And thankfully he _was_ when Steve turned back around, though he looked no less confused about the clothing than before.

“Is there something wrong with the clothes?” Steve asked, brows knit in confusion. Winter shook his head softly.

“No. They’re just not… protocol.” Winter frowned down at the clothes some more, and Steve suddenly realized that he _had_ to be ex-military. It explained a lot—the missing arm, the faraway looks, the breadth of his shoulders. It also explained why he seemed so confused; he was probably dissociating. Steve had the sudden urge to text Sam—he worked at the VA, maybe he could help.

“But they’re comfortable, right?” Steve asked. Winter paused and looked down at the clothes, then nodded.

“Yes. They smell like you.”

Steve blinked in surprise at the answer. “Um. Is that a good thing?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I’m—I’m going to make that food now.” Steve told him and then moved into the kitchen. He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Sam, who answered on the second ring.

“Sam here,” He answered, and Steve could hear what sounded like wind rushing around him. He must’ve been driving with the windows down.

“Hey Sam, it’s Steve,” He replied, figuring that he was paying attention to the road and not his caller ID.  “You got a minute?”

Sam grunted and for a minute the wind sound stopped. “Yeah, Steve, what’s up man?”

“You know how you told me to stop getting involved when I saw people fighting in alleys?” He asked as he went about getting ingredients out of the fridge and cupboard. He held the phone between his ear and shoulder as he whisked eggs and milk together in a bowl.

Sam groaned at him. “Steve, what did you do? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I didn’t even get into a fight, just scared some guys off with police threats,” He huffed, rolling his eyes. Winter peered around the corner curiously at him, then shuffled his way to the bathroom when Steve waved a little. “I just, uh. I found someone. And I think he needs help.”

Sam’s line went silent. “ _Please_ tell me you called an ambulance before you called me.” He sounded out of breath, and a little labored—maybe he was running instead of driving.

“No, I mean, he wasn’t hurt that bad, I don’t think. This happened last night and he seems okay, physically. I just… I think he might be a homeless vet? He’s missing an arm and he’s been talking about protocols and he flinches when I get too close, so I think maybe the guys I scared off have been hassling him for a while, or he was a POW.” Steve frowned as he scrambled the eggs, thinking back to how _scared_ Winter had looked when Steve approached him last night. As if Steve wasn’t five foot nothing and at least a hundred pounds less than him. “He’s not dangerous,” Steve added quickly, sensing a lecture coming from Sam’s end. “He’s just confused. And scared. He’s really nice though. I’m making us breakfast right now.”

Sam cursed on the other end of the line and then it went quiet—Steve checked and they were still connected, so Sam had just muted him. He took the opportunity to finish up the eggs and put them on a plate, then started on the bacon. It had just started sizzling when Sam came back. “Steve? Still there?”

“Yep,” Steve confirmed.

“Sorry about that. For starters, I think you already know I’m going to tell you it was a stupid thing to bring a stranger, especially a vet who might have PTSD, into your home,” Sam chastised, “Second, good job on not getting into a fight and scaring the guys off—proud of you man. Third, yes, if you wanna bring him to the VA tomorrow I can do a psych evaluation and see what we can do. You’re _sure_ he’s not dangerous?”

Steve leaned back and looked to where Winter was sitting on the couch, now, shoulders slumped, looking for all intents and purposes like a lost puppy. “Let me ask,” He said, even as Sam squawked indignantly and told him not to. “Winter, you’re not going to hurt me, are you?”

Winter’s head snapped his direction, eyes widening like he’d been caught doing something wrong. He tensed up, then swallowed thickly and shook his head. “No, Steve,” He said quietly, subdued.

“He said no,” Steve reported after giving Winter an encouraging smile. “But he seemed scared of me. I think he is, Sam. He’s scared of _me_.” Steve looked down at himself after he’d plated the bacon next to the eggs. He didn’t have horribly low self-esteem, but he knew he wasn’t inspiring fear in many.

“You’ve been nothing but nice to the guy?” Sam asked. Steve made an indignant noise.

“Of course!”

“Man, sounds like he’s been through it if he’s scared of someone being nice to him. We get a lot of vets with trust issues though. Especially if he _is_ a POW; sometimes the worst of the torture is when your captors are nice to you, just to take it all back. Those are some of the most complex cases. The psychological torture on top of the physical really takes its toll.” Sam told him gravely. “I’d definitely like you to bring him by, if you can. But don’t him push if he doesn’t want to come. It’s gotta be his choice.”

Steve nodded in understanding. “I know, I know. I just wanna help him. He seems so sad.”

“I know, man. That’s really nice of you. I’ve gotta go now—call me if he starts trying to kill you.”

“I will. Thanks Sam.”

“No problem man. Stay safe.”

After he’d finished the food and rinsed the pans and dishes he’d used, he carried his plate and the one he’d made for Winter out to the living room, handing his to him, a little saddened by the surprised look it earned him. “…I can have this?” Winter clarified, quietly staring at the food. Steve nodded with finality.

“You sure can, pal.” Steve answered as he started in on his own food. He turned the TV on so that they weren’t sitting in a silence, and Winter relaxed incrementally as he did. After several minutes of Winter casting him worried glances and not moving at all, he finally started to eat. Steve watched him out of the corner of his eye, worried if he turned to look at him he would stop. He seemed to enjoy the food, for all that he ate it like a starving man. When he was finished, he looked at the plate dejectedly. “Are you still hungry?” Steve asked, and Winter startled hard, like he’d forgotten he was in the room with him. Then he shook his head softly, avoided eye contact. Steve had a feeling that was a lie, but he let it pass. He held a hand out for the plate, which Winter passed to him without resistance.

After he’d rinsed their plates and set them with the rest of the dishes he needed to wash, Steve floundered a bit. Winter seemed in no rush to leave, and Steve didn’t want him to, if he had nowhere else to go, but… He wasn’t great at entertaining people. He had a very small group of friends—Sam, his close friend Natasha, and Natasha’s boyfriend Clint made up much of his circle. He was friends with Pepper in an abstract, work-related way, and with Tony in the way that he would rather listen to nails on a chalk board than spend any length of time with the man. Case in point: Steve wasn’t good at having people over. He was even worse at trying to navigate the minefield that was mental health; he was a naturally stubborn guy, and he had a pretty short fuse, and he’d been described many a time as having a “bull in a china shop” personality.

Steve made his way back to the couch and sat down carefully, mindful to keep his distance, though Winter still flinched, and Steve didn’t miss it. “So, those guys,” Steve started, making a face when Winter went rigid all over. “They beat on you a lot?”

“I—Sometimes,” Winter said after a brief internal struggle. He opened his mouth as if to continue, then just snapped it shut with a click, as if he’d thought better of it. Steve nodded.

“Not… Not to blame the victim, or anything,” Steve cringed at his own wording, “But… You’re twice the size of those guys. You have a metal arm. Why don’t you just knock ‘em out? Are they blackmailing you?”

Winter made a choked off noise, then gestured vaguely with his hands, then seemed to realized that he’d done these things and fell silent and motionless with his hands in his lap. He took a deep breath. “I didn’t follow orders. That’s why—that happened.” He explained. “I should’ve just listened.”

Steve made an incredulous noise. “What, like a gang thing? Are you in a gang? _Please_ tell me you aren’t in a gang.”

Winter frowned heavily. He started to speak, then stopped, then started to look increasingly uncomfortable, then stood up. “I need to go.” He yanked on his shoes as he said it, his whole posture and face closed off and untrusting.

“You don’t have to,” Steve told him quickly. “You don’t have to answer if you’re uncomfortable, I’m sorry.”

Winter shook his head, and gathered his clothes in his arms after he’d pulled on his shoes. “I need to go.” He repeated, then headed for the door. Steve followed him, not quite able to keep himself from worrying.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay? What if those people come back?”

Winter just shook his head again. “I have to go.” He repeated. He paused at the door, unsure. “Thank you,” He offered quietly, and then he was gone before Steve could say anything else. He opened the door again to call him back, but he wasn’t in the hallway—he was just gone, like a ghost.

Steve wondered if he would ever see him again as he closed his door and fired off a text to Sam to let him know what’d happened. Sam texts back, _‘Bummer man. Hope he isn’t in a gang, sounds like he’s mixed up in some bad stuff either way. Try not to think about it too much.’_

Steve doubted he’d stop thinking about Winter anytime soon.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I was gonna do another werewolf!Bucky with this story, buuut I dunno, I kinda like it as is too. Right now this is just a short little oneshot, but I have some ideas if anyone is interested in a series. Let me know if you’re interested, and if you’d like some werewolf!Bucky or just regular ol’ WS!Bucky! ^u^ This was also posted on my writing tumblr (@wereramblings)!


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